


This Heart Will Never Be Yours

by cantgetnoworse



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Angst, Blow Jobs, Cheating, Emotional Infidelity, F/M, Hand Jobs, Infidelity, M/M, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-04
Updated: 2013-08-04
Packaged: 2017-12-22 09:59:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/911890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cantgetnoworse/pseuds/cantgetnoworse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>It startles Ben how little time it takes Harry to look like a permanent fixture of his home, as though he’s exactly where he should be and as though he knows the pipe in Ben’s wall that creaks in the winter or the way the lowest floor of the house collects water when it rains hard enough.<i></i></i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	This Heart Will Never Be Yours

**Author's Note:**

  * For [falsetto](https://archiveofourown.org/users/falsetto/gifts).



> We found out through GQ that Harry was, at some point, living in Ben's attic while his home was being renovated and I wrote a thing about it, but didn't really follow canon timelines, my apologies! It was supposed to be a drabble for my lovely [wearecities/falsetto](http://archiveofourown.org/users/falsetto/) in response to her exclaiming something along the lines of 'HARRY LIVING WITH BEN' to me on Tumblr, and it is unbeta'd, so please lower any and all expectations accordingly. /o\
> 
> Be warned: this is **entirely fictional** infidelity fic (implicitly emotional/explicitly sexual) and does not have much closure at the end, so no puppies and rainbows and stuff, mostly just angst and pining! Ben's wife is mentioned several times throughout.

 

It starts innocent enough, with little flirtatious comments here and there while they're on the road.

An incident of Harry feeling tactile and needy on the tour bus after three glasses of wine. He’d just been rejected by a leggy blonde and he’s sulking as he nuzzles his cheek against the pleather of the couch and lets out a drunken drawl of, 'Ben, come and sit next to _me_...'

A cheeky grope of Ben's arse when Harry's coming off his throne of a stage. Ben's filming the boys from the sidelines. Harry's hand squeezes too hard and for a moment too long, and when Ben turns a half-warning, half-smiling look at him, Harry just pushes to his tiptoes and smacks a wet kiss to his cheek like two wrongs could make a right.

A game of hotel room _Never Have I Ever_ gone astray. It ends in Harry's eyes fixed on Ben's face, burning holes. He holds a glass of whiskey coke near his lips, ready as they come, and says, 'never have I ever... sucked a cock,' then smirks and takes a drink while a chorus of groans rises up from around them.

Ben tries to take it in jest. He peels Harry's wandering hands off him if they stray too far down his torso and rolls his eyes at Harry's pointless rambles - directed at no one in particular but clearly meant for Ben - about how polyamory is such an underated lifestyle and could be a fantastic solution to Great Britain's tragic divorce epidemic.

Ben tries to take it in jest, because he thinks he'll be free of it once tour is over. He can resist Harry when there's constantly cameras and crew around, when the entire world is poking and prodding at Harry for attention and Ben's main concern is just to keep him safe, when the rest of the band is always _there_ and their burly security detail forms a wall between them and the outer world. He can resist Harry when it’s never just the two of them.

What he isn't counting on, though, is Harry's text asking to move in with him and his wife three days into their time off - _my house is being renovated, I need to stay with you for a while? :) xx. H._ Ben accepts without a second thought because he knows how Harry feels about sleeping alone on his days at home, and he doesn't want that for him; he wouldn't wish that loneliness on anyone.

Ben accepts without a second thought because it’s Harry, _his_ Harry, and there’s always a way to make room.

 

\--

 

At the start, Harry living with him -- with _them_ \-- goes mostly without incident.

He wanders around the house in old, worn band t-shirts paired with soft joggers and helps Meri with chores, very nearly charming the knickers off her in front of Ben’s own eyes. (‘Where were you when I was 19?’ she’ll ask Harry in this put-on, long-suffering tone as she passes him another dripping wet dish to dry off with Ben working on his laptop at the kitchen table behind them; he hears the smile in her voice and it brings one to his lips. ‘Maybe I wouldn’t have had to marry this old git.’) Ben notices that Harry tries his absolute best not to disturb his surroundings, no matter how many times Meri tells him to feel at home.

On his quiet days (or at least Ben supposes they’re quiet, Harry becoming visibly introspective and timid in his movements), he prods around Ben’s arsenal of film equipment like maybe he wants to learn his way around every camera Ben’s ever owned until he’s mastered the very last one, until he’s bored and ready for a new adventure.

On his antsy days (after he tells Ben he misses Holmes Chapel and Anne’s pie), he curls up in the large leathery chair in Ben’s home office with his bound and cracked journal pressed to his knees. He never takes a tea or a coffee with him when he writes, Ben notices. He looks impossibly small behind the large oak desk cluttered with Ben’s things that Meri keeps begging him to organize. Harry never shuts the door, either, leaving it open far enough that Ben can see him folded up to half his size while he scribbles his life away, brows cinched in the middle. ( _Your face will stick like that one day,_ Ben always tells him when he frowns too hard, and it works every time to split his face into a goofy, dimpled smile.)

It startles Ben how little time it takes Harry to look like a permanent fixture of his home, as though he’s exactly where he should be and as though he knows the pipe in Ben’s wall that creaks in the winter or the way the lowest floor of the house collects water when it rains hard enough.

At the start, Harry living with him -- with _them_ \-- goes mostly without incident, but Ben feels the weight of his presence rattling his bones into a buzzing, pleading restlessness nonetheless.

 

\--

 

Two weeks and three days into Harry living with them, Ben hits a creative block with his work and feels unsettled.

He’s got a million and one projects to edit -- a hyperbolic number, sure, but it doesn’t feel like it when he scans through the chicken scratch scribbling in the _to-do_ section of his agenda. The mere idea of watching hours of raw footage on his multiple computer monitors is enough to make him want to burn every reel he’s ever produced.

In an attempt to blow off steam, Meri and him showered together after waking up hours ago. They kissed filthily underneath the spray without enough time for much else. He wanted to press her against the wall and have her drag her nails down his back hard enough to distract him from his shortcomings, but they had no time for that and she left him to run errands not long after.

Ben tries to let the stillness of the house inspire him to do something brilliant and worthy of critical acclaim, but it makes him uneasy instead, so he starts the coffee maker and makes a game of listening closely to hear whether Harry will wake up before the pot is ready or not.

When the red light on the coffee maker turns off and there’s still no sign of a sleepy 19-year-old boy in his kitchen, Ben pours a mug for him with plenty of cream and sugar and makes his way to the stairs. He climbs up the creaky steps and knocks against the exposed wooden rafters nearest him, keeping his gaze averted. He waits for Harry's inviting grunt before he dares walk over. It feels too invasive otherwise, and he still has hope that Harry will have made himself decent first before welcoming him in, but of course, no such luck.

Harry's lying on the queen-sized mattress in the middle of the attic completely naked, duvet shoved off to the ground and a single sheet twisted between his thighs so that one of his seemingly endless sides is nothing but a bare expanse of skin. It's too much to absorb all at once, buttery smooth and bathed in dust. Deliciously sharp ribs and a perfectly sculpted waist melting into narrow hips and a deep V, with Harry's thick, milky thighs stretching into a set of sturdy calves.

Ben tries to focus on Harry's ankle tattoos instead of anything else, but he can't help himself. His gaze travels up the rest of him inch by inch until he meets Harry's eyes. Ben flushes just a bit, because Harry's smiling this wicked little sleepy smile like he knows just what Ben's thinking, which is _absurd_ , because even Ben doesn't know what he's thinking.

Ben rolls his eyes, a smirk tugging at the side of his mouth despite himself. He feels lighter already. ' _Don't_ be cheeky.'

Harry laughs, and the sleepy rasp of it doesn't do anything to make him less enticing. 'Didn't say anything, did I?'

Ben makes a show of sighing, handing him his coffee. 'Better that way, isn’t it? You've got such a mouth on you sometimes. Come downstairs sometime in the next century, yeah?'

'Mmm, you're a love,' Harry says in this syrupy sweet voice, sitting up on one elbow to take a sip of his coffee, mumbling around the rim of his mug, 'well fit, too.'

Ben hears him, but he still says, 'Come again?' because it's the only thing he can think to utter through the sudden rush of blood to his ears.

Harry looks up at him sweetly from beneath thick lashes, and there are still red indents on his cheek from where he was likely drooling all over his pillow. 'Nothing at all.'

Ben hates how much he wants to have one of his older cameras in his hands in that second, something with a shoddy film roll in it. An antique Leica that’s holding onto its last breath. It could stop Harry's smile in its tracks, immortalize it forever. It could etch his dimple into a matte 4x6 memory to be folded and kept where no one else would think to look. _Not one for the family photo book_ , his mind supplies, and he pushes the thought out of his head.

'We've finished breakfast and you'll have to fend for yourself, pop star,' Ben says, and his voice sounds rougher than before, as though his daydream of photographing Harry had pulled his lungs taut. 'Put something on before you come down, will you? Don't want the light reflecting off your pasty arse and blinding me.'

Harry just laughs at that, a sickening sound that's worse than any other temptation Harry could try to thrust upon him. They share a few last words, light and meaningless just like Ben needs, and then Ben's trudging back down to the kitchen, putting away the plates and containers from the dishwasher as he tries to think of anything but the curly-haired menace he's grown so fond of who's curled up naked in his attic because he hates to sleep alone.

The house is eerie when it's just him, Ben thinks. _And Harry_ , his mind amends, but he does a good job ignoring it. He wonders what time of night Meri will be back from running her errands. Before she left, she read him a two-paged list of things she had to do that day for work, because ‘saying it aloud always helps motivate me,’ and even though Ben barely listened as he cleared the kitchen table after breakfast, she took a massive breath afterwards like she was suddenly ready to tackle her day, and that made his chest ache with affection for her. Meri's never been anything but wonderful to him, and he’s still unsure how he’s wound up here.

As though on cue, Harry saunters into the kitchen clad in only his low-slung black briefs, scratching his mussed hair as he yawns. It makes Ben’s stomach jump and convinces him that there's a special place in hell that’s engraved with _Winston, B._ that’s waiting just for him.

'Is that what you call putting something on?' Ben asks and nods at Harry’s briefs, somehow managing to turn away from the sight of them to stow pots away into the cupboard.

'To be fair, you did just say to cover my pasty arse,' Harry reasons lazily as he walks to the oven, his voice still thick with oversleep. He snatches a frying pan straight out of Ben's hands, setting it down on the stovetop before he pokes around in the cupboard beneath the sink, producing a bottle of cooking oil and drizzling the pan in it. 'Besides,’ he adds, sounding a bit more sheepish now. ‘I probably have to do my washing soon.'

'Just throw it in with our things,' Ben says. 'Meri does a load every other day, you know that by now.'

'I feel silly, no,' Harry says, shaking his head, 'don't wanna be a burden like that. I can do my own, just have to stop being lazy about it.'

Ben smiles to himself because this is the Harry he's grown so fond of over the past three years; the hushed one who wakes up in the middle of the afternoon and stands with one bare foot curving above the other as he makes his own fry-up. The thoughtful one who'll go out of his way to make sure he's not putting anyone else out, even if it's just by doing his own washing.

'You're not a burden, you know,' Ben says. ‘We love having you here.'

It takes a moment to settle on saying 'we' instead of 'I', but Ben's happy that he doesn't even stutter when it passes his lips.

'Good,' Harry says, quiet enough that it’s almost to himself. There's an obvious lilt of relief to his voice that makes Ben’s stomach twist. Harry tilts the pan around to spread the oil, but he never turns on the stove. ''Cause they probably won't be done with my place for a while yet. But let me know soon as I've overstayed my welcome, please? Don’t wanna be a tit.'

'Nonsense,' Ben says, because it is. 'You're family now,' he adds, because he is.

‘Family’ is an odd thing to call Harry, though, considering the thoughts he'd been having about him moments ago when he walked into the room with his happy-trail on display, leading to a small patch of badly shaved hair above his Calvin Klein waistband. It’s an odd thing to call him, but it’s true. Harry’s family now. Ben’s learnt that living on the road changes the meaning of words like that. Words like ‘family’ and ‘friends’ and ‘home.’ Living on the road upends everything that Ben had thought he'd figured out ages ago; lifts things out of their place and muddles them beyond recognition, leaving him to put the pieces back together without a clue where they really belong.

Ben is pulled out of his thoughts a moment later. He’s shutting the emptied dishwasher when a pair of long, lanky arms snake around him from behind and squeeze. Harry presses what feels like a kiss to the middle of his shoulderblades before nuzzling even closer against his back.

‘Hi,’ Harry murmurs into his shirt. His voice vibrates through Ben’s vertebrae as he rubs his nose against the fabric.

Ben strokes Harry’s arm gently where it’s stretched across his middle, smiling to himself. ‘Hi.’

They go quiet for a while, and Ben’s just about to detangle himself from Harry’s grip when he breaks the silence.

'Ben,' he says, in that low, deep tone of his that could certainly bring stronger men to their knees.

'Yes, love?' Ben asks, and it's a miracle he that he keeps his voice steady with the way his heart is trying out new tempos, testing to see how fast it can go before it stops entirely.

'You think maybe, in another world,' Harry says, and he pauses for a while. Ben breathes, and his heart slows as he waits for Harry’s words. 'In another world, do you think things might be different?'

Ben bites his lip. He considers it for a while. 'Well,’ he finally says. ‘If it's another world, surely they'd have to be?'

Harry takes a breath behind him and it sounds shaky to Ben's ears, though he supposes that could be a projection of his own state.

'Yeah,' Harry says belatedly, like Ben’s answer had settled something in his mind.

His palms flatten side-by-side against the middle of Ben's stomach, fingers touching in the centre. He smoothes the creases of his shirt in even, languid strokes, up-and-down, up-and-down, synchronized perfectly. His motions become slower and longer as the seconds pass, until his warm hands are just lingering right above the waistband of Ben’s joggers, dampening the material of his shirt with sweat. Ben should peel them off, he knows. He should reach down and curl his fingers over Harry’s, pull them away and tell him to have a bite to eat before it’s time for supper.

He closes his eyes and waits instead, and Harry must feel his resolve melting away, because he dips bold fingertips underneath the hem of Ben’s shirt and scratches lightly at the trail of hair he finds, surely thicker than his own. Ben can feel a spark of heat shooting its way through him, like Harry’s touch is injecting electricity into every fiber of his being. He can sense it right down to his toes.

'Harry,' Ben warns under his breath. His eyes fall shut.

He wishes with all his heart that it shocked him more, the touch of Harry's fingers to the sensitive skin of his belly, but he'd be a liar to say he hadn't hoped for it to happen sooner rather than later. He wishes he was surprised by how much his body wants him, but it's not the first time he’s shown interest in Harry's advances, however insignificant his reactions had been compared to this. Because it’s not the first time he’s shown interest, but as his cock thickens and rises up to stretch the material of his joggers, he realizes he’s never dared let it go this far before.

Harry doesn't say a word. Ben can feel his hot breath seeping through the back of his shirt and the long line of his torso pressed firmly against him. Harry’s hands start to slide lower still toward his joggers, edging beneath the elastic of his waistband. Just his fingertips at first, then down to the first knuckle and then the second, like he's testing to see just how far Ben will let him go. Harry kisses Ben's back when Ben doesn't stop him, and Ben feels the combination of anticipation and shame settling ugly in the pit of his stomach, but the desire to feel Harry's hands dip even lower outweighs every one of his hesitations.

It doesn't take more than a moment for Harry's long, curious fingers to slip more surely down his joggers and into his boxers, stretching out the elastic waistband for a second time as they make their quest into the place where Ben is radiating an obscene amount of heat. Harry curls shaking hands around Ben’s shamefully hardened cock. Ben's amazed that he doesn't lose his composure entirely at the first bit of contact, doesn't even hiss like he really wants to, just curls his own hands around the countertop he's facing and hunches his shoulders forward. Harry starts to stroke him, his grip slow and loose, and the glide of his palms becomes slicker once he's caught a bit of precome on his fingers from the upstroke.

'Harry,' Ben repeats quietly, but it's thinner this time, less of a warning and more meaningless altogether. He's not sure why he says it, so he hardly expects for it to resonate with Harry, but then Harry's tightening both hands and stroking with more pressure and murmuring _I know_ into the tense knobs of Ben’s spine.

It shouldn't be like this, Ben thinks. No one's home, but he still worries anyone could walk in on them. From behind it'd look like Harry's wrapped around him in one of his overzealous cuddles, pestering him for affection. But instead, Harry's hands are on his cock, squeezing over the head and traveling down the thick length of him to meet the coarse hair at his base. Harry’s hand unfurls at the bottom of Ben’s shaft to curl around his balls, squeezing gently like he’s operating something new and isn’t quite sure which button does what.

'I want to taste you,' Harry says then, and Ben does hiss this time, because Harry manages to sound sultry and reluctant all at once. 'Been - been thinking about what you'd taste like for ages now, if I’m honest. You’re a bit bigger than I thought.'

He sounds awed, and that alone nearly brings Ben undone. It's embarrassing to him, the realization that a 19-year-old the fraction his size is making his body react like a teenager's would. He forgets to respond, forgets that Harry’s even said anything until he speaks again.

'Ben,' Harry says quietly, but he seems more worried now, his tone hectic like he needs Ben to acknowledge his admission. To act on it. Ben understands when Harry presses his own erection against the back of Ben’s thigh, needy and obscene. 'I want to taste you,’ he repeats. ‘Just this one time, I promise. I promise I won't try it on again. Yeah?'

Ben must nod or show some other sign of agreement, because Harry whimpers once from behind him, giving his shaft a quick squeeze before he slides his hands out of his boxers. Ben goes lightheaded with the loss of pressure from around his cock, but then Harry’s shuffling to get to his knees in front of him, maneuvering him out of the way gently so he can make room for himself between Ben’s thighs and the counter.

It's like nothing he's ever seen before, Harry kneeling before him, his hair somehow looking messier than it did when he woke up earlier this afternoon. The sight of him is wrecked, blotched cheeks and pink lips and wild green eyes that make Ben's cock impossibly harder, and when Harry licks his mouth from corner to corner and smiles up at him unsurely, Ben has to curl a hand in his hair. He hasn't had the chance to touch Harry until now and it might be -- _needs to be_ the last time he can do this. The last time he can comfort Harry as he waits for him to take him in his mouth.

Harry arches his body upwards towards Ben's thighs and takes hold of Ben's waistband, rolling his joggers midway down his thighs before repeating the motion with his boxers, leaving his cock bare and exposed. He breathes a few times and just watches Ben's length bob and settle into place, then reaches a hand up to wrap it around his base, squeezing him once.

'I won't be able to take much of it,' Harry finally says as he gives him a perfunctory stroke, as if that's going to be a legitimate cause of concern for Ben. It's so absurd that it startles a laugh out of Ben, and Harry furrows his eyebrows up at him in confusion and very nearly pouts. 'Don't laugh at me.'

'I'm not laughing at you,' Ben promises kindly, because he would never. Before he can explain himself further, though, Harry pushes himself up so that he's standing on his knees with his chest nearly pressed to the tops of Ben's thighs, ducking his head forward and wrapping the soft, velvety insides of his lips carefully around the head of him and giving it a gentle suck.

His tongue laps carefully at him inside his mouth, as if he's testing the taste to see if it’s something he likes, and the thought alone is enough to drive Ben mad. Harry slackens his lips just a tad and allows more of Ben to slide up the length of his tongue, bit-by-bit until his mouth is full. He tightens his lips into a ring that connects with his fist around Ben’s base and swallows. Ben can feel him suction the saliva that’s gathered in his mouth back down his throat and it makes him tighten his fingers in Harry's hair, dizzy with it.

Harry pulls up and off of him in a deliciously slow, tight drag of tongue and lips, keeping his mouth pursed until the very end as the tip slips out, as though he's sucking on an ice lolly and doesn’t want to drip.

'You could maybe fuck it a little,' he says but doesn’t even look up, sounding hoarse and a little shy, cheeks looking suspiciously rosier. ‘My mouth,' he clarifies helpfully, and before Ben can even react to that, he's sliding his lips back down.

Ben flexes his fingers in Harry's hair and takes a shaky breath. He lets Harry bob up and down a few times because he can’t find the nerve to do as he was told, but when Harry stills his lips around a mouthful of Ben’s cock and glances up at him from beneath his lashes inquisitively, Ben tightens his hand and gives an experimental thrust.

Harry makes a pleased sort of sound and wraps a hand around the back of Ben’s thigh, nodding up at him. Ben twists his hand more surely in Harry's hair and holds his head in place, and the little tug of his curls makes Harry's back arch forward as he hums his approval around him. Ben realizes that the hand Harry had curled around the back of Ben’s thigh is gone again, and when he looks to see where it’s settled, he finds it unmistakably nuzzled between Harry’s own thighs, his shoulder rolling every time he moves it. The realization that Harry's started to touch himself with the anticipation of Ben fucking his mouth makes him absolutely loopy with want.

Ben steps forward and settles both hands deep in Harry’s hair, lifting his head up and forward a bit as he starts to slowly fuck his mouth in short, shallow thrusts that have Harry’s eyelids fluttering shut. One of Harry's hands had still been curled around the base of Ben’s cock, but he flattens it out over Ben’s bush instead, pressing down against the short hairs for leverage as Ben rocks his hips steadily against Harry’s mouth. He tries not to thrust too deep, but Harry still gags on him violently every few beats, throat spasming audibly for air as his nostrils flare and his eyes well up with tears.

'Stop?' Ben asks the first time it happens, but Harry shakes his head _no_ , so Ben stops asking, just slows down when Harry coughs and splutters around him, letting him breathe through it before picking up the pace of his thrusts again.

'Fuck,' Ben breathes, and it makes Harry's gaze travel up to meet his, tears gathered in his lashes and drool slipping past the corners of his lips. 'I'm getting close, Haz.'

Harry swallows around him with a nod, pushing even closer on his knees. Ben doesn't miss the way that Harry’s shoulder jerks, an indication that the hand he has between his own legs has sped up to an almost rough pace, and Ben wishes it were him taking care of Harry instead. He remembers what Harry said earlier, _I want to taste you, just this one time, I want to taste you_ and it pulls him right to the edge, his vision swimming as Harry moans muffled and sweet and desperate around his pulsing length.

Ben loosens his hands and spills the first load down Harry’s throat. Harry struggles for a moment, breathing heavily through his nose as he swallows several times in quick succession, throat fluttering like he might cough it all up, but he manages an impressive job of getting him down without coming off for air.

It's only when Ben tugs at his curls that Harry pulls off of him, the motion sloppy quick and leaving his mouth pressed against the underside of Ben’s freed cock as the last of Ben’s release spurts out of him in one, two, three more spasms, covering Harry’s features in an impressively thick lining of come -- from his cheeks to his lips and even down the side of his nose. Harry looks up at him, licking out sloppily at whatever bit of Ben’s cock is still in his reach. He keeps his eyes on Ben’s, pressing a sloppy, misaimed kiss at the still-pulsing vein on the underside.

‘Touch me,’ Harry breathes against him, and he sounds like his voice doesn’t even belong to him anymore; Ben barely remembers the last time he made anyone sound like that. ‘Please touch me. Fuck, Ben, I can’t. _Please._ ’

Ben can’t focus his gaze or even catch his breath, but he fights through the dizzying haze of his release to tug at Harry’s hair, urging him upwards. Harry is clumsy as he hauls himself up with the aid of two fistfuls of Ben’s shirt. They both trip a step backwards as Harry stumbles over his own feet in his haste to stand. Ben steadies him with one hand on his hip and the other immediately going to his cock, wrapping around it and giving it a firm, long stroke that elicits a wounded sound from Harry. He’s shocked by how wet Harry is, the length of him slick like he’s already come, but the way Harry begs _please, please, please_ under his shaky breath as Ben adds pressure to his cock, pumping him quick and steady and a little rough, is a surefire indication that the best has yet to arrive.

Harry peels Ben’s left hand off his hip and lifts it to his lips instead, mouthing messy kisses against his palm until his tongue catches on the back of Ben’s wedding ring. His hooded eyes land on Ben’s as he licks around the white gold and sucks the back of it into his mouth. Ben whispers _fuck_ as his hand tightens around Harry, pumping him furiously, punishingly hard and Harry moans the loudest he has all day, arching into Ben’s merciless fist as his orgasm hits. Ben’s hand around him stutters in shock, eyes fixed on Harry’s mouth where it’s exhaling hot puffs around his ring, fogging up the metal as he bites down lightly on Ben’s finger around it. He breathes against Ben’s hand heavily, fucking his hips into his hand over and over, milking himself of his own orgasm before finally slowing down.

Ben gives him a final few strokes until Harry shudders and hisses with oversensitivity then lets him go. He watches Harry’s mouth as his hand slips away from it, ring catching on Harry’s bottom teeth as he moves his palm down to his chest instead. Harry’s heart is pounding beneath his touch. Ben’s entire body feels like it doesn’t belong to him -- heavy and floating all at once -- and he feels cold, suddenly, now that the adrenaline's beginning to wear off and the realization of what had just transpired settles over them like a shameful cloak.

There’s something about the two of them breathing the same hot air and eying each other without a word -- as if allowing any intelligible sound past their lips would be an irreversible admission of what had just happened -- that taps a crack all the way down Ben’s heart. A crack that feels permanent, like it’s meant to gape open for the rest of their lives.

The stark realization settles into Ben’s bones. He and Harry are a secret now. With every inhale, exhale that passes, they’re pushed further into a dark corner meant for worse people. He thinks of a shooting star -- the brightness slashing through the dead of night, the glimmer of hope that makes believers out of non-believers before blackness overtakes the sky once again like nothing else had ever been there before. It’s the same, Ben thinks, as the feeling of finally getting what he wants and losing it completely in the same moment.

‘Ben,’ Harry murmurs, but Ben shakes his head and takes a careful step back.

‘You should--’ Ben starts, and his voice sounds strange to his own ears so he clears his throat once before trying again. ‘You should have something to eat. It’s almost time for supper.’

His limbs feel detached from him, but he utilizes them to the best of his abilities to make himself decent as he speaks, tugging his waistband into place. He feels wetness on his fingers. He doesn’t know if it’s his release or Harry’s spit or a combination of the two, but it makes his stomach twist so tightly that he can barely stand upright. He stays as still as he can until the nausea passes then wipes his hand on his joggers.

 _Should do the washing before Meri’s back_ , he thinks, and angles his body away from Harry’s as he walks around him to the sink, certain not to touch. He wants to laugh, because no amount of _not-touching-Harry_ will ever take back his hand on Harry’s cock or Harry’s mouth on his own. No amount of _not-touching-Harry_ will keep him from wanting to do it again. He thinks he sees Harry flinch and drop his head from the corner of his eye, as if Ben had said the words aloud, but he doesn’t flit his gaze over to check on him. He starts the sink and washes his hand with dish soap instead.

‘I could call to see if... if they could hurry up the renovations,’ Harry says. He grabs a few tissues from the box on the counter, probably to clean the mess left on his face, then drops them in the bin. His voice shakes unmistakably. Ben’s heard this before, the quiver of Harry’s words when they’re almost wet with tears.

‘Don’t be silly,’ Ben says, and his voice is solid as stone in comparison, cold and smooth and free of conviction. ‘I’m going to go clean my office, I think. Meri’s been nagging me about it.’ He says it only because he wants her name to ring in the air around them. ‘You have something to eat, will you?’

‘Okay,’ Harry says. ‘Can I help you? After I eat?’

‘Better not,’ Ben replies, washing his hands for longer than necessary. He turns off the sink and dries off on a dishrag. He tries to turn his gaze onto Harry’s, but he can’t hold it for longer than a second before glancing away to the doorframe again.

Harry nods in the periphery of Ben’s vision, but doesn’t say a thing.

Neither of them move. It’s quiet long enough for Ben to think of Harry’s words from earlier.

_In another world, do you think things would be different?_

It hadn’t been the first time Harry had asked him something wishful like that.

_In an alternate life, d’you reckon I could go out and get a smoothie without having my hat stolen off my head?_

_Had I not gone on the X Factor, d’you think people would even care how many people I’ve slept with?_

_If I weren’t ’Harry Styles’ Harry Styles, do you think I would’ve found someone to be with a bit sooner?_

Ben startles out of his thoughts when he feels a tug at the bottom of his shirt. He lets his eyes travel down, landing on Harry’s long fingers as they bunch up the worn material and tug gently.

‘Please,’ Harry says, and then he’s pressing close, pressing his nose against the scruff of Ben’s cheek. Ben feels wetness, and he’s certain Harry’s crying though he barely makes a sound. ‘Don’t. Don’t ignore me. Just don’t.’

‘Harry.’

‘I know I’ve fucked it up,’ he says, and Ben doesn’t correct him even though he knows he should. Harry’s a lonely 19-year-old boy and Ben’s a married man, and he knows he should tell him _it’s not your fault,_ but he doesn’t. ‘I know I’ve fucked it all up, but don’t shut me out now.’

Ben curls a hand around Harry’s hip, squeezing it once. He flattens his palm there experimentally then eases it to the small of Harry’s back, pulling him close. Harry whimpers in relief when their bodies line up, wrapping his own arms around Ben’s neck and pushing nearer, nuzzling against his throat.

‘I’ll help you clean your office,’ Harry tells him with an air of determination. His words are muffled and barely audible, but Ben’s senses are in overdrive and he hears everything -- even his own heartbeat, even the A/C whirring from another room.

Ben nods his assent, hand rubbing small circles into Harry’s back as his eyes fall shut. _It’ll be fine_ , he tells himself. _In another world, it’ll be fine._

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Tumblr post is [here](http://cantgetnoworseee.tumblr.com/post/57349189012/fic-this-heart-will-never-be-yours). Feedback is always appreciated. ♥


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